Rushing In
by eriphi
Summary: Peter has always been decisive. It is one of his best qualities, except when Oreius calls it rushing in. On this occasion it is going to put both Pevensie brothers in danger.
1. Chapter 1

This story is based in the early days of the Golden Age as Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy learn to be Kings and Queens of Narnia. There will be action, evil creatures, hurt/comfort and brotherly bonding. It is eleven chapters long, mostly complete aside from some polishing and spell-checking. There might be a few days between updates while I do this and listen to the advice of my marvellous beta elecktrum.

As always, I would dearly love to know what you think of this. Reviews can be long, short, critical, adoring, anonymous, public, private... actually, any feedback at all would be wonderful. Even 'I read this' is appreciated more than chocolate!

_Summary: Peter's failure to learn an important lesson in the training ground will put him and Edmund in danger when they lead a rescue of the wild horses of the Narnian forests._

I still don't own Narnia. Was there who thought I did?

* * *

**chapter one**

It was a perfect day to begin outdoor training, Peter thought as he ran through stances in the practice ground. The sun shone, not too hot to be uncomfortable or so low that it caused glare, but warm and bright as the best spring morning. Blossom was beginning to brighten the trees and the sound of creatures about their business filtered down from the Castle. Edmund was perched on the fence reading a book with his practice sword beside him.

They had been dressed early this morning and had arrived before their tutor. A long winter of lessons and training in the Great Hall had meant that both boys were delighted when Oreius had announced that they would be back to using the practice areas in the grounds of the Castle. He had also announced, mysteriously, that he had 'something interesting planned,' and that piqued their interest.

The great centaur joined them and bowed.

"Good morning, Sires."

Edmund grinned as Peter said, "It is a fine day for training, Oreius. What is this interesting thing you have planned for us?"

"I think he wants to torture us with fauns," said Edmund.

Two of the goat-legged creatures had followed Oreius and now they stood at a respectful distance with their heads bowed. "Come, ladies," Oreius said. "May I present High King Peter, and King Edmund, Monarchs of Narnia."

Edmund waved brightly, until Peter thumped his arm.

"And these two ladies are the sisters of Barberini."

Peter wasn't aware of any particular significance in the name, but Edmund recognised it instantly. "Really?" He jumped off the fence. "I read about your family. Did your father really forge Peter's sword? And fight the in Dwarf rebellions. And you... they say that you're the best sword-fighters in all of Narnia."

The fauns nodded in mute agreement. Edmund turned to Peter, "They're legends, Pete. I've read books about the things they've done."

Peter smiled at his brother's enthusiasm, but his pleasure was tempered with the reminder that Edmund had read such books because he had spent most of his first winter in Narnia closeted in the library and snapping at anyone who tried to pry him away. He had stopped eating too, and the nightmares had been so bad that Peter had moved into his room. The three Pevensie children had stepped on eggshells until spring arrived.

The boy who was eagerly shaking hands with the sisters looked like a different child. His dark eyes were no longer haunted and there was at least a hint of colour in his cheeks. Susan still complained that he was too thin, but he was eating enough to make up for it. And he was grinning broadly.

"Do you think we're ready to face legends?" Edmund asked.

"You are always ready to learn lessons from your betters, my King. Now, ready yourselves!"

Four hours later Peter wondered why Oreius thought the best way to learn lessons was getting beaten black and blue by practice swords. He had been floored so many times that even his backside ached. His wrist hurt from the constant impacts, and the only thing he had learned was never pick a fight with a faun from the greatest sword-fighting pedigree in Narnia. He was covered in dirt and sweat and he must look quite a sight, but if he was honest, he was loving every second.

He was facing off against the elder of the sisters, and he was keeping up with her this time. For a second he allowed himself to think that he might at least get one contact on her before she threw him into the dirt again.

When she dropped her blade momentarily, the opening was too good to miss. Without thinking he lunged for the unprotected area. Unfortunately, it was just a feint. The faun raised her practice sword again and gave Peter's arm a solid knock that sent his sword flying harmlessly into the dust. Inevitably, she tripped him up with a second blow and he landed on the ground.

Peter lay there, panting, as the faun held out her sword in the formal pose. "Yield?"

"Yield."

"It was a good fight," she said as she helped him to stand.

Peter knocked the worst of the dust off his jerkin before answering. "Would you teach me that move?"

"It would be my great pleasure, Sire. My grandfather's father first used it, and then it was adapted by my Aunt who..."

Oreius interrupted before she could get too caught up in ancient history. "Peace, faun. You can tell the High King the rest over luncheon. I would like to debrief both of your majesties," he indicated Edmund, who was still fighting, with a nod of his head, "before we break."

Edmund was even dustier than Peter, but at the moment he was holding his own against the parry and thrust of the little faun. She was hardly breaking a sweat, while he looked like he had run a marathon.

The faun was pushed back a step and Edmund advanced the way he had been taught. Her cloved hoof stepped on a rock in the dirt and she stumbled. Peter tensed, expecting Edmund to take advantage of the opening, but he did not. With four further quick parries she recovered, and with a skilled flick she sent Edmund's practice sword to join his brother's. At least he wasn't on his back this time.

Oreius dismissed the second faun and she joined her sister. They trotted from the training field arguing happily about whether the boys fought like their father Rebeus the faun, or their great-aunt Felicity. No creature found family history quite as fascinating as a faun, and they would talk on the subject for a year and a day without encouragement. Normally Peter would use any excuse to avoid listening, but today he would have preferred that to the berating he was sure he was about to receive from his teacher.

Both boys stood in the now empty training field and faced the centaur. His expression was fixed into a serious frown. Peter steeled himself for a lecture on the failings of his techniques.

Instead, Oreius broke into a wide grin. "You have done well."

The boys glanced at each other before Edmund found his voice. "I died eight times, and it's not even lunch."

"The sisters are among the best swordfighters in the whole of Narnia. There is much still to improve about your footwork and your mastery of the blade is not yet complete, but I am pleased with your progress. You are both diligent and hard-working."

This was high praise, and Peter shared a pleased smile with his brother.

Oreius frowned again, to temper the compliments. "There is still much work to be done. You, High King Peter, are still reckless. She took you in like a baby squirrel. If you had been watching her hooves, you would have seen her true intent telegraphed there. And if you hadn't rushed in, you would possibly still be fighting."

"If I hadn't rushed in, I would have missed the opportunity."

"Better a missed opportunity than receiving a fatal blow," the centaur summed up. Then he turned to Edmund. "Opportunity should not, however, be missed consistently. Why did you not strike your opponent when she stumbled?"

"I thought..."

Oreius stamped a hoof. "If a thought cannot pass through your head in a heart beat it is taking too long. Aslan save me from Kings who think too much," he said to Edmund, then he turned to Peter, "and those who don't think at all. One of you rushes in, and the other hesitates. Now go. I will see you back here in one hour. That will give the sisters time to tell you about the time their great uncle bested me in single combat. They delight in that story. I do not know why."

Edmund retrieved their swords and limped back to Peter. "I think we were both complimented."

"We were beaten by a pair of girls, Ed."

"Really, really great sword-fighting girls."

Peter sighed as he replaced his practice sword on the rack. "Let's go and find Susan and Lucy. You know how Lucy loves listening to Faun family history, and who would want to miss a story like that."

Despite the camaraderie, they walked to the Castle in silence. Peter considered how he was supposed to think more in the heat of battle. From the frown on his brother's face, it seemed Edmund was wondering how he could think less.

---

After a week of training, Peter did not think he was making any progress. He had taken to picking out seats with cushions in the Great Hall and he had to eat left-handed to protect his aching wrist. Edmund was no better. He did not seem to end up on his back as often as Peter, but a winter of being indoors was telling on his stamina. When training was over for a the day, he would collapse into a chair and sleep until dinner time. His black eye and loose tooth were from a glancing blow from Peter's practice sword as it was thrown through the air again, and it lent him a rakish look.

Despite this, both Oreius and the fauns were enthusiastic about their progress. They claimed that the boys were making vast improvements on their footwork and sword handling, although Peter was still inclined to rush in and Edmund tended to hold back when he should press an advantage.

But despite the injuries and aches, both boys admitted that it was marvellous good fun.

The messenger arrived on the eighth day of their training at the hands of the Berberini sisters. Tumnus announced the young satyr as Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy were enjoying their dinner. Or as much as it could be enjoyed left handed and perching on the edge of the most cushioned chair Peter could find.

"News. News, your majesties. I bring you news of great importance." The satyr bowed low, and waved its hat with a flourish.

Edmund mumbled something into his bread roll that might have been, "Well, get on with it."

Susan scowled at him, then stood to formally acknowledge the satyr. "Pray, tell us your news, good satyr."

"I report sightings of fell creatures, your fair majesty. In the forest, only three days from Cair Paravel."

Peter grinned and he saw Edmund do the same. The chance to fight something that hadn't been handed its first sword by great uncle Sebistus as a baby faun was very appealing.

"How many?" Peter asked.

"What were they doing?" said Lucy.

The satyr looked from one monarch to the other, caught out between which to answer.

Again Susan glared at her siblings. "Tell us what you saw. I promise we shall wait until the end before interrupting again."

The Pevensies were good to Susan's word and did not interrupt the tale. The satyr, who introduced itself as Mer from the line of Eastern Satyrs, was an apprentice of the Watch. During a patrol of the forest edge, it had disturbed a group of around thirty fell creatures feasting on the carcass of one of the wild horses. The satyr had been lucky to escape with its life, and it had rushed to Cair Paravel without stopping.

Food and drink was brought and the satyr devoured all that was put before it. Peter had to restrain himself from asking for more details. It was obvious that it had not eaten since it had been sent on its mission and everyone knows that satyrs require almost constant feeding.

Edmund was using the lull in conversation for the same purpose and he ate at almost the same rate their guest. The girls remained composed and patient.

Finally, once the satyr reached its fill, it said, "I am ready now."

Peter said, "Do you have any idea of numbers? What creatures did you see? Do you have any ideas of leadership or structure?"

"I am sure Oreius will ask all the pertinent questions, Peter," Susan said a little haughtily.

"And I am King, and I will need to know these details to organise our response."

"Surely you are not planning to lead the force?"

"The wild horses need our help. Surely you don't suggest just leaving them to the mercy of the Witch's creatures?"

"That's not the point, Peter. You are the High King. You shouldn't be putting yourself in danger for every band of wicked creatures. You could send any of your retinue and they would deal with this in swift order."

"I promised to protect this country and I intend to do so."

Susan frowned, and Peter could tell that she was hiding nerves with her anger. "It isn't about helping. You want to be the hero again."

Peter didn't deny it. "What's the point of learning warcraft if we don't use it to help."

"But you are just learning! Look at what happens when you fight those fauns. I've seen you land on your back a hundred times. You can barely land a blade on them."

"None of her creatures know how to fight like the fauns."

"I would have to concur, your majesty," Oreius said. "The sisters are something quite special in their prowess, and the progress..."

Susan interrupted, "And you're no help either. You shouldn't be encouraging him. Very well, so be it. Go out and get yourself killed on a fool's mission." She turned to Edmund, who was helping himself to seconds of treacle pudding. "And you're as bad as Peter."

"I didn't say anything."

That didn't satisfy her. "Idiots," she said angrily as she marched out the room.

Lucy shrugged. "I'd better speak to her. When you go, you will be careful, won't you?"

"I haven't said we're going anywhere."

"You will, though. I understand. Susan does too."

Edmund shrugged at his brother. "Girls," he said disparagingly, although the effect was spoiled by his mouthful of treacle pudding.

They were right, though, Peter acknowledged. He did intend to take the fight to the Witch's creatures. He glanced at Oreius, who nodded his consent.

"All right. Let's get this planned out."

They stayed up into the early hours with notes spread across the dinner table. The satyr fell asleep curled in the corner of the room.

It was agreed that speed and the element of surprise were of the greatest importance, so they would leave the next day. Oreius insisted on accompanying them with a group of his finest soldiers. Edmund volunteered some suggestions that made the centaur nod in approval and the boy beamed with pride. When the details were finalised, Oreius told them to go to bed.

Peter slept well despite his excitement.

He only woke once. Edmund was tossing in his own bed and called out in fright, as though caught in a nightmare. By the time Peter was fully awake, Edmund had settled again. He had always been a restless sleeper, and in the morning neither boy remembered it at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the kind words! They mean so much. Again, I would love to know what you think of this, in any form you would like - my semaphore is a bit rusty, but smoke signals are good :) Emails and reviews are even better...

I hope I manage to keep this story balanced, with enough Peter and Edmund to satisfy everyone.

Again, my thanks to elecktrum, and assurances that I have not acquired the rights to Narnia between chapter one and two...

Now on with the show.

**

* * *

Chapter two  
**_**  
**_The next day Susan declared that she was still mad at Peter and Edmund, but Lucy had worked enough of her charm that she agreed to come and see them off.

The courtyard was crammed with servants organising provisions and soldiers readying their weapons. Peter grinned at the sight as he pulled his own sword belt tighter and tightened the buckles on his pack.

Susan pushed up close beside him. "You do promise that you will be careful," she said.

Peter hugged her tightly. "I am always careful."

"And take care of Edmund. He's so young..."

"I wouldn't let him catch you saying that."

"You know what I mean. He is too young to go out fighting. After the winter..."

Peter understood the unspoken concern. "I will look out for him Susan. You know I will."

"And you heard what Oreius said, that he thinks too much. And that you should not rush in."

"I heard. Please don't worry, Susan. We'll be back before you know it."

She looked as though she wanted to believe him, but was still not quite convinced. "There isn't anything I can say that will make you change your mind, is there?"

"No, I don't think so."

She helped him first with his pack, then to mount the steed who had volunteered to carry him.

He leaned down and pecked a quick kiss on her cheek, then checked on the preparations. Most of the soldiers were ready to go; the centaurs stood at ease near the gate conversing with the Berberini Sisters as a jaguar sat cleaning itself in the morning sun. Instinctively, he searched for his brother among the press of bodies.

The younger king was deep in conversation with Lucy. They were probably having the same discussion as Susan and Peter had just finished. Lucy would be telling Edmund to take care of himself and to look out for his big brother.

Then she pulled him into a tight hug. He stood stiff in the embrace and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. When she released him, she dabbed at a tear under her eye with a white handkerchief. Then she left Edmund and rushed over to Peter.

"Good luck, Peter."

"Thanks Lu."

"Come home safe," she said, then reached up for a hug and a quick kiss as well. Trust Lucy to know when not to nag at her brothers.

Edmund had not got off so lightly. He was being lectured by his elder sister. Some of the words carried over the general racket.

"...don't do anything foolish. And listen to what Oreius says. And eat all your meals. I've made sure that the..."

He was scowling so hard that Peter was tempted to hold back a few minutes longer to see if it was true that your face did stay like that if the wind changed.

However Oreius came to Edmund's rescue. He blew a short blast on the trumpet, and all talking ceased. Of course, Susan was the last to stop. Her words, "...make sure you change your socks," seemed very loud in the silence. Edumund blushed hard and mounted Philip without another glance at her.

"Make formation," the centaur called, and the little band of Narnians filed into a semblance of order. Peter brought his horse to stand at the head of the group, and was joined by his brother. Judging by the scowl on Edmund's face, he was eager to be away.

"Your troops await your command, your Majesty," Oreius said formally to Peter.

Peter nodded. The centaur had warned him that he would be expected to say something to the soldiers. He had thought carefully about what would be most appropriate, but he was no speech writer. As always, he decided to speak from the heart. "For the love of Narnia and her peoples, attend to me. We go in Aslan's name to the defence of our realm against the remnants of the Witch's evil. May the great lion grant us good fortune and safe return."

A great noise filled the courtyard; the animals roared, the centaurs stamped and those bearing arms clashed them together. The walls around them echoed with the sound, and Peter felt his blood stir with pride.

"Good speech," Edmund said so that only Peter could hear him. "A little short on detail, but not bad."

Oreius blew once on his horn again, Peter raised an arm, then edged his steed toward the gate.

The girls had joined the rest of the court. Lucy waved ferociously, while Susan was more dignified and gave a small flourish of her hand. When she frowned suddenly, Peter had no idea why until Lucy laughed and stuck out her tongue.

"Edmund!"

When Peter looked at his brother he was trying not to grin. At least he had he had his tongue back in his mouth. Susan mouthed 'Children', but her frown was dissolving into smile. It was a relief not to leave the palace with bad feeling between them.

Then they were out of the courtyard and into the streets of Cair Paravel.

Small crowds gathered at the corners and clapped and cheered as they rode past. Peter grinned and waved to the little assemblies. Some were friends, and he knew that the families of the soldiers who rode with them would come to see them off. The tree spirits blew blossom and green leaves around them and music drifted from a piper who followed in their wake. Many small animals and children raced along behind them enjoying the impromptu carnival atmosphere.

The only person who did not seem to be having fun was Edmund. He slouched into his saddle and would wave only when Peter nudged him.

"Why must it always be such an spectacle?" Edmund muttered. "We should have gone by the back gate."

"Don't be such a misery Ed."

The smile that he pulled was more of a grimace. He would never like these formal trappings of the monarchy.

Peter on the other hand, could not help but enjoy himself a little. These demonstrations of joy filled him with pride. It also helped him to forget that some of those he led from Cair Paravel might not come back. Why not let them enjoy themselves?

Too soon, or not soon enough, depending on the perspective, they reached the arch into the countryside. The satyr took up the forward position. Edmund stayed beside Peter and flashed a relieved grin at his elder brother. "I would rather fight all the fell creatures in Narnia than that have to do that again."

"Not until we come back."

Edmund was silent for a moment, then said, "I'll use the back gate, you can have the parade. Anyway, it's too nice a day to worry about it. I bet Philip and I could beat you to that rise."

"You're on."

Without any more encouragement, Philip and Peter's horse burst away. The younger centaurs crowed with delight and Peter was filled with joy. Even if Edmund did beat him.

---

The group's good humour lasted all through the day and they made excellent progress. The sun shone on beautiful Narnian countryside and the small farms that thrived in the fertile land. Animals and creatures came out to meet them and to invite them to lunch, dinner, tea and supper. There was no way they could oblige them all, so in the end Peter elected to camp in the open and everyone they passed was invited to join them instead.

There was dancing and singing. The Berberini sisters gave a demonstration of blade work that was well received by the spectators and a rabbit family tried to teach the centaurs the Derassian folk dance. During the festivities Oreius and Peter gathered news from the heads of the families, but there were only hints of evil creatures still living in the forest. No-one in this civilised country had witnessed anything suspicious.

Peter danced with some of the pretty naiads, and even dragged Edmund up for a couple of spins before the younger boy pleaded exhaustion and disappeared out of the firelight to his blankets.

When Peter stumbled into bed several hours later, his brother was already asleep and muttering in his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. I am glad you are enjoying it. I'd like to especially thank ciecly and E and rodeocat and Issabella for their kind words. Please let me know what you think about this story - all comments good/bad/indifferent are wonderful. I have changed the summary so that it confirms that this story has a bit of balance between the boys. Again, profuse gratitude to elecktrum for her advice and patience.

Things are about to take a slightly darker turn...

* * *

**Chapter three  
**

On the third day out of Cair Paravel, they left the neat farmland behind them and began the slower trek over the moorland towards the dark shadow of the forest. Stunted trees and rocks littered the moor and the hooved animals had to take care not to trip on the uneven ground.

"Will we see any wild horses here?" Edmund asked Philip as they walked. Peter rode beside them and listened too.

"Probably not," the horse replied. "They are shy. I have never heard of any leaving the safety of the forest."

"Do you know anything about them?"

Philip whickered with a pleased tone. Peter imagined that he was flattered by the interest that 'his' boy showed in horses of any kind. "All creatures were created by Aslan at the beginning of the world. Those who were given the Gift of Speech stayed at the First Council. My own ancestors, and the ancestors of all the talking animals were at that first meeting."

"Are the wild horses talking animals too?"

"No, but they are our close brethren, for they are intelligent as well as beautiful. The silent ones were sent out to fill the corners of Aslan's new land, and the wild horses came here and settled in the safety of the forest. That was many years ago, and the land was bright and glad. Us talking horses would sometimes visit, and sometimes a talking horse would take a wild horse as a mate, although," he lowered his voice, "that is not something that we often discuss in polite society." He continued, "Then the Witch came. The land became cruel and the wild horses became reclusive. Very few have seen since the beginning of the Hundred Year Winter."

Edmund rubbed Philip's ears just the way he liked. "Have you ever seen one?"

"No. I am looking forward to it. It is said that the wild horses are some of Aslan's most beautiful creatures."

"We might not get to see them at all," said Peter. "Oreius thinks that they might stay hidden while we are here."

Philip sighed. "As usual Oreius is probably right, but don't tell him I said that. We'll probably meet the fell creatures, dispose of them and be back to the Cair before my stable has time to air properly."

"Never mind, Philip," said Edmund. "If we don't find a wild horse to be your mate this time, we'll get the girls to dress your mane and tail and we can come back next year."

"King Edmund!" Philip said, sounding scandalised.

Peter whacked Edmund's shoulder. "Stop teasing."

Edmund grinned, but it seemed half-hearted. He glanced towards the shadow of the forest and the smile was gone.

The banter stopped around mid-afternoon, and by the time they reached the trees they were riding in silence. It was as though the reality of their situation was dawning on them.

Peter thought there was something more though. He felt like he was being watched and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He found himself looking around, as though expecting the fell creatures to jump out at them. The rest of the band seemed to feel it too, but Edmund seemed edgier than most; he snapped at Peter and Philip if they tried to engage him in conversation and he fingered his sword nervously.

Without talking they made their camp ready. There was no singing or dancing this night.

Peter sought out his brother once had inspected the soldiers, and found him watching the darkness of the trees.

"Hey, Edmund. Are you going to bed soon?"

"Something is wrong here," the younger boy said, as though Peter had not spoken.

"What do you mean?"

"This place. It feels lonely. Don't you feel it?"

"It's not like the farmland around the Cair, that's for sure."

"It's more than that. It's hard to describe, but it feels like winter again."

Peter felt a chill run over his spine, but tried to ignore it. With a false lightness he said, "Don't worry about it. It's just because there aren't any parties here."

"I'm not worrying," Edmund snapped. He turned away from Peter and lay down his sleeping roll. He had his arms crossed and his back to the camp.

If any of his sisters had been distressed, Peter would have tried to cheer them up, or at least talk about what was upsetting them. Experience told him that trying to do so would gain him nothing with Edmund. So he went looking for Oreius.

"Your majesty," the centaur said as Peter joined him.

Peter said, "We should keep double watch tonight." He did not share Edmund's misgivings with them, but the centaur nodded seriously.

"Agreed. This is not civilised country. I will arrange the soldiers to the watches."

"I will take the second."

"And your brother?"

Peter glanced at the silent shape at the edge of the camp. "Leave him be. He can do it tomorrow."

The second watch of the night was the darkest and most inhospitable. The centaurs slept without a sound and Peter was left with his own thoughts. There were lots of small animal noises, but nothing threatening. It was impossible to even see the trees, which made Peter wonder what hope he had of spotting anything before it was upon them.

The noise, when it came, was from behind him; a shuffling, quiet footstep that couldn't have been the centaurs or the quick footed fauns. Peter would recognise the sound whether it was in the cramped upstairs of a Finchley Flat, or here under the dark night of a Narnian spring.

"Edmund," he whispered.

"Hello Peter."

Edmund stood beside his brother. The camp was silent behind them.

"It's too quiet here. I couldn't sleep."

"I guessed."

"I don't like this place, Peter. Does that sound foolish?"

In daylight with a squadron of centaurs and seasoned fighters around him, Peter might have been tempted to laugh off his brother's concern again. In the dark it was less easy. "I think I understand."

Edmund sighed in relief. "I wasn't sure you would believe me."

"Oreius seems to think it's a bad place too. He didn't say it in words, but he was nervous."

"Nervous? That's hard to credit, but at least I'm not going mad," Edmund said, then paused. The clouds had moved away from the moon for a moment, and something seemed to have caught his eye. He pointed. "What's that?"

The trees were illuminated in the silver light, but at first Peter could not see what Edmund had noticed.

Then his eyes accommodated and he spotted it; a werewolf standing just within the trees. It stared at the boys. Peter knew instantly that this was one of the fell creatures. Its muzzle was darkened with blood.

A thousand ideas flashed through his mind. Chief among these was the need to prevent the werewolf returning to his fellows. They would move on, and it might be weeks before their trail could be found again. It could not be allowed to escape.

He drew his weapon.

Slowly, Peter advanced forward with his sword raised. "Do not move," he said in a loud voice.

"What are you doing?" Edmund whispered.

"We can't let it leave. They'll just go to ground and we'll never find them."

"It's too far away. You'll never reach it in time."

"I will. Go back and tell Oreius."

"Not bloody likely. You're not thinking about this. Don't rush in..."

Peter filtered out Edmund's words. The werewolf was frozen to the spot, like it was under some kind of spell. Peter just needed to reach it. He continued to edge forwards.

They could not have been more than thirty yards apart when the spell was broken and it turned and ran into the trees.

In that instant, all Peter could think of was that he could not allow it to escape. It had to be stopped and captured if possible. He didn't give himself time for a second thought. He thrust his sword back into its scabbard and rushed after the werewolf.

He hardly heard Edmund yell behind him.

Moonlight lit the way but it cast disconcerting shadows through the branches. Leaves and small twigs whipped his hands as he ran, but he did not slow. The werewolf did not look back.

They leapt over old trunks and ditches and even a little stream. It seemed to know its way for it avoided the worst of the obstacles. Even still, it would lose precious moments clambering over ground that Peter could jump easily.

Height was less of an advantage when the trees became denser and Peter had to duck more often to clear their overhang. His cheeks were scratched like his hands by the sharp branches. Despite this, he did not lose any ground. It was almost, he thought momentarily, as if the werewolf was slowing to match his speed, but staying just out with the reach of Peter's sword. Then the thought was gone as he stumbled over a branch, twisting his ankle.

The chase seemed to last for hours and led into deeper and deeper forest. Now that Peter was limping, he made slower progress, and he realised that he had been a fool. There was no way he could catch the werewolf like this. He should accept that the chase had been an idiotic idea, and get back to the others.

But the werewolf was only a few strides away. He made one last lunge towards it, with his hand on his sword hilt.

He didn't notice the change in the nature of the light until it was too late. The cool moonlight was replaced with a warm fire-lit glow.

By the time he realised, he was already in a clearing dotted with campfires and ugly little creatures.

The werewolf turned around. It winked. "Got you."


	4. Chapter 4

This is slightly later tonight than I had originally planned. Blame a new baby niece (the good news), and the cat that was run over (the bad news). It has been an emotionally charged sort of day.

But enough about me. Thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews, as always. I do so appreciate it.

As before, thanks to elecktrum for her invaluable beta reading.

* * *

**Chapter four  
**  
Before Peter could draw his sword, his arms were grabbed by dozens of small hands. The werewolf howled in delight, and the forest was filled with jeering and catcalling of little creatures. These were ugly things no taller than Peter's thigh, man-shaped with mottled skin and missing limbs. Their decaying stench was almost overpowering.

People of the Toadstools, Peter realised.

They were evil creatures who had come to the White Witch's banner, but had deserted her army before the battle of Beruna. They were cowards, Tumnus had once explained, with vicious natures who would only fight unarmed, outnumbered opponents. They were known to be cruel and without mercy. Susan had shivered, and said that she hoped never to meet one.

Tumnus had thought this wise, and said that if Susan ever did see one of the them, she should blow her horn for all she was worth. If they were brave enough to show themselves, then it was likely that she was in a great deal of trouble.

Peter knew he was in a great deal of trouble, and he wished he had Susan's horn.

With a press of numbers, the Toadstool People forced him onto his knees. One of them removed his sword and threw it onto a pile of blankets. Their claw-like fingers pinched and scratched him, and they held him so tightly that he could not shake them off.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped. The creatures stood still as though frozen. Peter followed the direction of their stares into one of the darkened corners of the clearings.

There was a shape in the shadows. It was hunched over the body of a large animal, but began to stand as Peter watched. When it turned, the firelight cast deep shadows across its wrinkled face. He pulled back against his captors, but their grip was secure. It was a hag.

"Pretty, pretty," she said as she came close enough that he could smell her dry breath. "What lovely thing has my lieutenant trapped for me tonight?"

"A son of Adam," the werewolf said.

She threw back her head and cackled in delight. The creatures joined the laughter and the noise echoed from the trees. Then she stopped, raised a hand and there was silence. "Son of Adam! How marvellous. This is a great honour. We poor creatures of the forest are not worthy of your presence. In my Queen's winter I would have sworn that you were a myth, and if not, that you were long extinct. And now you are here as a guest."

"You are holding me prisoner."

"Yes, you are right, I suppose. You are a prisoner. But you are a fine prisoner, better than any who have been brought to me for a long time." She reached out and touched his face with a clawed finger. "So smooth and soft, child. What is your name?"

"Peter."

"Were you are one of those who killed my Queen?"

"I fought your Queen at Beruna when she was defeated. Were you there?" He tried to make it sound as though he were in the Great Hall at Cair Paravel and not captive in the dark forest.

"You are in no place to be demanding answers of me. Why have you come to my forest?"

"We came to because the wild horses are our responsibility, like the rest of Narnia. They were being butchered so we came to protect them."

"We? You talk of 'we', but I only see one foolish child."

He did not answer.

The werewolf said, "He came with an army, my lady."

"Ha. And where is your army now? You are alone and you are at my mercy."

"You won't get away with this. My friends will find me. You should let me go!"

"No. I will not release you. You are my..."

A noise distracted her and she stopped talking. The body she had been crouched over was moving. Peter realised it was one of the wild horses that had been lying so still he had dismissed it as dead. The horse struggled to raise its head despite the wounds across its flanks and the ropes holding it to the ground.

The hag glanced at it dismissively, then said to the werewolf. "Kill it. This is a much more interesting plaything."

"Stop!" Peter yelled, but the werewolf flashed a grin full of bright teeth and moved on all fours towards the horse. Peter struggled against his captors. Then the hag moved closer to him again and blocked his view. He did not hear the werewolf's killing blow, but the horse cried out and then was silent. A murmur of delight passed around the Toadstool people.

"I have been here since I escaped the battle at the field of Beruna," the hag said, ignoring both the little people and the werewolf's work. "I was a mistress in my Queen's retinue, one of her most trusted advisers."

She ran a nail down Peter's cheek. He did not move, despite the urge to shrink from the touch. It was the only defiance he could muster.

"I could kill you and have justice for the violence against my Queen. She promised me a slice of Narnia for my own when she ruled, and instead I skulk in the forest. My Toadstool People are loyal subjects, but I crave sunlight and to be clear of these forsaken trees."

She began muttering to herself, and Peter could not help thinking that whatever she was planning was going to be unpleasant.

Why had he not stopped and listened to Edmund, he thought angrily. Even more so, why had he not listened to himself? He had known that the werewolf had slowed to allow him to catch up, and he should have realised that it was the simplest kind of trap. He was a fool, and now it was going to get him killed.

"Hostage," the hag said thoughtfully. "That is the word, although it has not been used in Narnia for many years. You will be my hostage. I will hold you here, and if the Rulers of Narnia wish to see you returned unharmed, they will have to give me what I wish."

"They will not negotiate with you."

"As I have said before, you are in no place to make demands, child. If they are as soft-hearted as you, they will discuss my terms." She addressed the Toadstool People. "Tie him."

The creatures pulled out ropes and bound Peter's hands together behind his back as he knelt. He tried to struggle but there were too many. Blood ran down his wrists and arms as they nicked him in their hurry to do her bidding.

When it was done, she grinned. Her teeth were blackened stumps. "Now, as a guarantee for your good behaviour."

She pulled a small dagger out from her rags. Its blade was dark, but the hilt was intricate with delicate silver filigree. She whispered something, then spat on the blade. The saliva glistened in the firelight.

Peter watched in horror. He sensed magic at work. The creatures in the firelight began chanting in some tongue he did not recognise. The hag moved forwards with the dagger raised.

He struggled but the Toadstool People held firm.

The chanting built in speed and volume. She held the dagger high ready to strike.

It seemed that, despite what she had said, she was going to kill him after all. Peter did not feel scared, and that surprised him. Instead, he was engulfed in a flood of regret. He would die here, and no one would know. He would never be nagged by his sisters again, or get beaten at chess by his brother. He was sorry and sad and, by Aslan, he would miss them.

Aslan...

Even thinking the great lion's name gave him courage. He cast off the sadness and struggled to stand despite the bonds on his wrists. He would face death the way Aslan would expect. He would not kneel before this thing.

"Aslan," he whispered, and waited for the killing blow.

But instead of the fatal strike, he felt only the nick of the blade across his cheek. Blood oozed from the little wound and down his face, but he had eyes only for the dagger. There was a dread in his heart when he saw the blood and saliva mix.

"A spell," she said over the sound of the chanting Toadstool People. "This is now your very own dagger. When your usefulness ends, it shall pierce your flesh and it will be the last thing you know. This is the most powerful poison Narnia has ever known and it is specific to you, child."

She expected him to cower, but he would not. He looked her in the eye. "Aslan," he said, louder this time so the whole clearing could hear him. "Aslan."

The hag was not shaken, but the Toadstool People were unnerved. They shrank away, and the sound of their chanting became louder as though they were trying to block out the hated name.

"Aslan," he said again, and even the hag shifted back a little.

"You cannot scare me," she said. "Your lion is not here."

Over the sound of the chanting, Peter thought he heard a low growl.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all, yet again for your kind words. Also thank you to any lurkers for continuing to read. I hope you are enjoying the story.

Again, as always, most enthusiastic thanks to elecktrum for her advice.

* * *

**Chapter five  
**

At first Peter thought he had imagined the low growl, because it was almost impossible to hear anything over the chanting of the creatures around him. Then it happened again, louder this time, and some of the Toadstool People seemed to hear it too. Only those closest to the trees seemed to notice at first. They hushed, and then, like a ripple on water, the silence moved through the throng. It took three heartbeats for the chanting to stop. Even the werewolf seemed to listen.

Peter's first thought was that it was Aslan, then he realised that the growl was too quiet and the pitch was wrong. Surely Aslan would not have hidden in the trees when faced with these creatures. He would have roared in and lifted the Hag by the scruff of her neck, poisoned dagger or not. It was not in his nature to stand back while injustice was done.

But the creatures did not know this. He could see by the look in their ugly faces that they feared that their death was at hand. One word rose in a whisper around the clearing.

"Aslan."

There was no mocking in their tone and even the hag glanced over her shoulder fearfully.

Into the hush came the sound of a yell.

"I've found them. Sound the attack. For Narnia!" With a shout the whole wood seemed to come alive around them. Branches cracked and leaves moved and what seemed like the sound of a hundred heavy feet filled the air.

The effect was instantaneous. As one, the Toadstool People dropped their weapons and they ran as fast as their stunted little legs would carry them in every direction. The clamour from the trees was quickly drowned out by the stampede. Even the creatures holding Peter's arms did not resist the panic.

The werewolf started to run too, but knocked Peter to the ground first. Without his hands to save himself, he landed in a tangle of creatures. They struggled underneath him like a rush of rats, then they freed themselves and ran over him too. It was impossible to protect his face from the sharp feet and clawing hands, and there was no way he could try to stand until he could get his feet underneath him. He had to satisfy himself with curling up and squeezing his eyes shut to wait for the worst to pass. Over it all he could hear the hag wailing.

"Stop you fools. Stay and fight."

Then just as quickly as it had started, it was over. The creatures had gone, the clearing was empty and the only sound was the screaming of the hag. Abruptly even that was cut off.

A hand grabbed Peter's arm.

"Peter."

He opened his eyes. It was Edmund, filthy but unhurt in his undershirt and trousers. His sword was angled at the hag's chest. She was staring hard at them, but the implicit threat was enough to keep her still and silent. Without taking his eyes off her, Edmund pulled out his dagger and left-handed began to saw at the bonds around Peter's wrists.

"We need to get moving," Edmund hissed.

The dagger made short work of the ropes, and with Edmund's help Peter scrambled to his feet. The elder boy scanned the clearing again. This time he ignored the hag and the poor dead horse. He was searching for his sword. Now that the creatures were gone, he could see the campfires and abandoned belongings that littered the clearing. Most of it was junk, but he spotted bits of Narnian armour and broken weapons among the rags. His sword was in a pile of other plunder close to the dead horse.

"Be quick," Edmund said. He didn't take his eyes away from her.

Peter grabbed the swordgrip, and felt the reassurance of its weight in his hand. He spun around to face the hag and began to advance on her.

"Leave it. We're going. Now, Peter."

The edge in Edmund's voice caught his attention; the younger boy was worried. Peter decided he had learned a lesson. He was done with rushing in, so if Edmund told him they needed to leave, he was going to start listening. He edged back towards the safety of the trees.

"Where are we going?"

"We need to get away from here," Edmund said, "before they realise..."

Then he stopped.

"The horse. We can't leave it here," he said.

"It's dead, Edmund. I'm sorry. She said to kill it."

"I see it breathing." Without waiting for a reply, he said, "Cover me."

Now who was rushing in, Peter thought to himself. Surely nothing could have survived the wounds that ripped the chestnut flanks. Nevertheless Peter moved to cover Edmund's position. He pointed his sword at the hag's throat.

She watched them closely, but did not move. The yellow eyes were locked on Peter's and the malice in the stare was like a knife. If Peter had not been the one holding a weapon, he might have quailed.

Edmund began sawing at the ropes that held the horse's leg and neck.

As he worked, the hag began advancing upon them. Peter would have attacked, but he realised that doing so would leave his brother without protection. If any of the fell creature's returned, Edmund would be an easy target.

"Edmund," Peter hissed. "Hurry it up."

"You cannot escape," the hag said.

To Peter's horror he saw her reach under the rags and his blood ran cold. He had forgotten the dagger.

"Edmund!"

"I'm nearly done."

She pulled the blade out. Its surface glinted in the fading firelight, but around the hilt it had darkened with congealed blood. With a lazy movement, she raised her arm and brought the dagger up.

There was no way Peter could stop it being thrown even if he lunged at her now. The distance was too great.

The last set of ropes fell behind him and Edmund scrambled to his feet. For what it was worth, the dead horse was free. Now they needed to get out of here.

Peter had eyes only for the the hag as she brought back her arm and threw. The dagger arced through the air and Peter raised his sword. He hoped to deflect it like a cricket ball.

But before it reached them, the world jerked up and hit him in the face with a mouthful of leaves. Something had pushed him to the ground from behind and Edmund landed on top of him.

For a second, he lay on the ground thinking, where had the knife gone?

A tremendous racket filled the clearing like a challenge. A high pitched whinny echoed against the thunder of stamping hooves. It sounded as though there were four hundred animals behind him, instead of one dead horse.

But Edmund had been right. The horse was not dead. It was alive. And it was furious.

Peter felt the rush of air over his head as it leapt over them with barely an inch to spare. He lifted his head up to see the beautiful animal gallop forwards, then pull itself to a sudden stop in front of the hag. For a second they were both still. The horse was tense, all its powerful muscles bunched into tight knots. Blood dripped from the gashes.

"I did not mean..." the hag whispered in fear. "Please..."

They stood frozen for a moment.

Then the tableau was broken. The horse rose onto its hind legs and bore down upon her with its front hooves. The sound of the impact cracked around them, and Peter wanted to stuff his fingers in his ears. The evil creature crumpled with the onslaught and did not get up again.

The horse reared upon the fallen shape once, then twice. Each time its hooves connected the coarse rags burst out with the impact. Nothing could survive such a beating.

The horse stood and panted hard. For two heartbeats it looked down upon its victim, then without a backward glance at the boys, it hobbled into the trees and was gone.

The only sound was of their breathing.

It should have been impossible, but the shape under the rags shifted. The movement was painfully slow, but eventually the hag lifted her head so that was looking straight at Peter.

Her face was a mess of blood. One eye was destroyed, and the bones of her face must have been shattered. Spit and teeth shone through her ruined cheeks. Her one eye stared hard, and Peter felt a moment of pity. She was dying.

Her final words were barely a whisper. Blood and saliva dripped from her mouth. "Got you," she said. Then her head dropped back and she did not move again.

Then silence.

Eventually the weight upon Peter's legs moved and he was free. Edmund was muttering behind him.

Peter stared at the dead thing and his pity evaporated. She had wanted him dead, and worse, she had wanted to destroy his family and Narnia. If the horse hadn't killed her, Peter would have. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. They weren't out of this yet. He was alive and mostly uninjured, although his ankle hurt and the rope burns around his wrists still stung.

"I don't know," Edmund said breathlessly, "what she meant by 'got you', Peter."

Something was wrong. Peter spun to face his brother.

There was the knife. It was lodged in Edmund's shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Are you guys tired of me saying thanks to everyone yet? Hopefully not, because here goes again - thank you to everyone who reviewed, everyone who is still reading, and elecktrum for everything.

There, that was shorter this time...

* * *

**Chapter six  
**

The hilt and approximately an inch of blade stood out from Edmund's shoulder. The rest was buried underneath the collarbone and blood was starting to stain the white undershirt red. His whole body was shaking and in the yellow light from the campfires, he looked ghostly. His eyes were large and scared, and for a moment he wavered as though he was going to faint.

Peter put out a hand as support, but Edmund pushed him away. He said, "It's all right, Peter."

"You have a dagger in your shoulder! It's hardly all right."

"There are more important things," he snapped.

"More important than a dagger in your shoulder? It needs to come out."

"I know, but it'll have to wait. We need to leave. Right now." He swallowed once, and straightened. "It doesn't hurt so much."

"But Edmund..."

He shook his head, but didn't meet Peter's eye. Instead his eyes seemed drawn to the dead hag lying in the middle of the clearing. "Trust me. The dagger can wait. They will be back soon."

"Who?"

"The rest of those creatures, of course. The minute they realise that Aslan isn't about to do them all in, they'll come back. And we should be far away when they do."

With dawning realisation, Peter looked around the empty clearing. "The others aren't coming," he said slowly. "You're on your own. You made all that noise, the growling, to make them think that an army was coming."

Edmund gave a careful shrug of his uninjured shoulder. "Yeah. I followed you. You're not safe to let out on your own yet, you do know that. I yelled fit to wake the dead before I left and hopefully they realised that something was up and came after us. I was going to keep watch until they did. Then that thing tried to kill you and I had to improvise. I was almost too late."

"It was well done though. I'm sure Oreius would have called it impulsive and dangerous, but thanks."

"Save it for another time, Peter. Now come on."

Edmund turned, but the movement was too much and he stumbled. Peter reached out to grab him, but wasn't quick enough. The younger boy landed on his hands and knees. Blood dripped from around the knife hilt onto the forest floor. Peter crouched down beside him, and this time Edmund didn't flinch away when he offered a hand.

"All right," Edmund whispered. "I lied. It hurts."

"Can you walk?"

"Yes."

Peter wasn't sure he believed the answer, but he helped Edmund up carefully by the uninjured arm. He managed to stand, and if he wavered it was no more than before.

"Let's go."

Peter slung Edmund's arm over his shoulder. He was prepared for the protests, so when Edmund accepted the assistance without complaint, his concern intensified. Up close it was obvious how much younger boy was trembling, and he made use of all Peter's support.

Peter's eyes were drawn to the dagger, but he forced himself to ignore it. Every instinct told him that the thing needed to be removed, and that every second it was there was a more time for its poison to work. But Edmund was right. If there was a chance that those creatures were going to come back, they needed to be away from here. They would just have to deal with the dagger when they were safer.

Their passage through the trees was faltering to start with. Peter's ankle ached and struggled under their combined weight. It was dark and the trunks were densely packed and it was impossible to tell which direction they were headed. Peter had to satisfy himself that it was away from the clearing.

Eventually the sky began to lighten a little and the shadows faded to grey so that they could see and avoid the roots and other obstacles. Edmund began to support more of his own weight which was a relief because Peter's ankle was getting more painful.

Once, Peter asked if Edmund was all right. The reply was a snappish, "I'll be better when we're further away from here."

When Peter's ankle gave way from underneath him it was without warning. He had to throw out his free arm to save himself. Edmund had no such such luxury, and it was only through twisting awkwardly and landing on his brother that he avoided knocking the dagger's hilt. Peter felt his ankle twist further, and he couldn't help cry out in pain. They both lay on the forest floor.

Peter caught his breath eventually. He was about to suggest that they had given themselves enough space to think about getting the dagger out of Edmund's shoulder when the air whistled through the trees. A whisper said, "Hide."

There was an urgency in the sound that made Peter look up.

"They are coming," the trees said. "Hide."

Edmund had his eyes closed and didn't look like he had heard.

Peter looked around frantically. There were only bare trees on all sides. Their trunks were smooth, and there were no low branches that they could climb. There were no dips or debris that they could use to hide either. They couldnt' have been more exposed.

"Edmund," he hissed. "We need to go."

His brother opened his eyes a crack.

"Edmund!"

In desperation Peter looked around again. He would have to carry his brother, and he wouldn't manage far. Perhaps there was a tree to hide behind.

But this time when he looked he saw something new, and he would have sworn it wasn't there before. A tree to their left was larger than the rest, and its twisted trunk gaped in the middle. There was a dark hole like a cave in its surface. A hiding place, he thought.

Without speaking, he pulled Edmund up. The younger boy's eyes flashed open, and he struggled to help.

The half dozen steps to safety felt like a hundred. All the time the trees whispered around them. "Hide."

The gap in the trunk was just big enough. Peter pushed his little brother in first, then he scrambled in too. It was a tight fit, and he took care to avoid Edmund's shoulder in the dark.

The moment Peter was hidden, the sound of harsh voices filled the air. He couldn't hear the words, but he recognised the sound of the speech. Some of the Toadstool People were returning and passing close to their hiding place. He estimated there were twenty or thirty hurrying past the tree.

Neither boy would have survived a confrontation in this state. The hiding place had saved their lives.

It felt like hours until the forest was silent again.

Peter whispered, "Edmund?"

Edmund mumbled an answer. "What's't, Peter? Where are we?"

"We're in a tree trunk. Those things came past, but they're gone now. They scattered in all directions from the clearing, so who knows how long it will take them to get back. And when they find the hag dead, I don't know what they'll do."

Edmund's breaths were rapid and loud in the little space. Then he asked, "Are you all right, Peter?"

"Fine. Better than you. Let's see about getting that thing out of there."

In the darkness Peter had to rely on his hands to find the hilt of the dagger. When he did, Edmund hissed in pain, but did not cry out. "This might hurt," Peter said, as he cut Edmund's shirt from around the wound. Once the flesh was exposed, he wrapped his own shirt around his hands to explore the site. He didn't want to risk a cut himself. The words of the hag rang loud in his ear, 'The next time it pierces your flesh will be the last.'

"Get on with it," Edmund said.

Peter readied a wad of cloth ripped from his sleeve. In as quick a movement as he could, he tugged the blade. He could feel it grate against bone as he did. Once it was free, he knocked it safely out of the way. Then he pushed a wad of cloth over the bleeding wound. Edmund did not make a sound, but Peter could feel him shake as he put pressure on the injury. It only took moments for the cloth to soak through in his hand, but he kept up the pressure.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered.

"'s all right." Edmund slurred, then was quiet.

He tied the wad of padding as tightly as he could with a second strip from his shirt. His hands were sticky with blood, and he was aware of the heat in the younger boy's skin. Edmund did not make a sound as Peter worked.

Finally, when the wound was as dressed as well as he could in the cramped darkness. Peter said. "I'm done."

Edmund still did not answer.

With shaking hands, Peter checked his brother's pulse. It was weaker and faster than he would have liked. The skin under his hands was, if anything, even hotter.

"Edmund," he whispered as loud as he dared. He was still mindful of that creatures might be outside their hiding place.

This time, Edmund managed a gentle moan in reply. Peter couldn't help his sigh of relief.

"It's out," Peter said.

The whites of Edmund's eyes were the only things visible in the darkness. "Thanks," he said.

"How does it feel?"

"Hurts."

Peter squeezed to sit beside his brother. Perhaps he imagined the way the tree seemed to accommodate their shapes? "Could you be more specific?"

"It really hurts," Edmund muttered. Then he sighed. "It feels worse now you took it out. And I'm tired."

Peter was not a doctor. All he knew about medicine was from _The Family Home Medica_ that his mother had kept in the flat in Finchely. It had been good on measles and stomach ache, but seemed to have missed out the whole chapter on poisoned dagger wounds.

The words of the hag couldn't help playing back in his mind. The knife had been poisoned for Peter. The littlest scratch would have killed him, and Peter had no reason to doubt her word. He wondered what the same poison would do to Edmund.

"You're thinking about something," Edmund said quietly.

"I'm wondering how we're going to get out of here," Peter lied.

"Wait for daybreak, then we run for the camp."

In the darkness, Peter found his brother's hand and gripped it tightly in his own. Despite the heat radiating from the younger boy, or perhaps because of it, the hand was frozen in Peter's. "Is that the master plan?"

"Look, I just saved your hide. I'm injured and think perhaps it is your turn to think of a plan. I'll feel better after I sleep for a bit."

"Maybe that's not such a good idea. You shouldn't sleep after a knife wound."

"That's a head wound, idiot. And really, I'm not sure if I have much of a choice."

Peter watched as the whites of the eyes were covered, and the breathing slowed. Then he was alone.

He thought to stay awake, and plan their escape, as Edmund had suggested. But the adventures caught up with him, and he could not resist the heaviness of his own eyes. They dropped once, and again, then he slept with his head resting on the tree's wood. His hand gripped his brother's hand as tightly as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven  
**

Someone yelled.

At first Peter couldn't work out who it was or why they were doing it. His room was dark, his bed was less comfortable than usual and it was colder than he would have liked. Perhaps he had kicked off the blankets in the night? Although that didn't explain all the noise.

When it happened again, he woke up properly.

Either his eyes had become used to the dark or daylight was filtering into their hiding place, because he could make out Edmund's shape beside him.

"Edmund. Edmund," Peter said. "Wake up, Edmund. You're dreaming. Edmund!"

The younger boy's eyes opened slowly. "What is it, Peter?"

"You were having a nightmare." Peter didn't mention the yelling.

"Sorry."

Peter did not want to go back to sleep. It seemed that Edmund felt the same. He stared ahead without speaking.

Peter didn't like silences. He said, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Like I just got stabbed."

"I meant, hot, or cold, or sore or anything?"

"I know what you meant. I'm not an idiot." Then Edmund sighed, and said in a calmer tone. "I feel awful if you must know, but better now that I've had a rest."

Peter checked for fever with the back of his hand the way their mother had when they were small. He checked his pulse as well, but it was still too dark to see the wound properly. He had to satisfy himself with touching the wad of cloth. Edmund flinched away when he did, but otherwise sat still.

Peter pretended not to hear the muttering about 'fussing worse than Susan.' If Edmund was well enough to grumble, it was probably a good sign. It was a shame that the same could not be said about the rest of his findings. The younger boy still had a fever, although it was not as high as it had been earlier, his pulse was rapid and the gentle touch of the wound should not have provoked such a reaction. Peter knew that the dagger had done its work.

"So," Edmund said. "How is the ankle?"

Peter snorted. "Fine."

"It wasn't fine earlier. Did you twist it?"

"Edmund. You've been stabbed with a poi..." he stopped himself from saying 'poisoned' and continued, "with a dagger. You're feverish and probably going into shock from blood loss, and you're worried about my ankle!"

Even in the poor light, Edmund's weak grin was clear. "Purely self-interest," he said. "After all, if you're going to help me out of here, you'll need to be able to walk."

"Ed..."

"Stop changing the subject. How is your ankle?"

Peter concentrated on his ankle for a moment. He flexed it and it ached only a little. "Good enough, for now."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Who is fussing worse than Susan now?"

"Answer the question, Peter. Are you hurt? Those creatures weren't gentle."

"I'm fine."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly, Edmund. I am quite fine. I might be a bit bruised in the morning, but it's nothing I don't deserve."

"Where are you bruised?"

Peter sensed there was something more behind the questioning. "Why the fuss? Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Answer my question first."

"There is nothing wrong with me," Peter said irritably. "My wrists are a little sore, but that will improve in a while. My ankle is better. There isn't anything else wrong. Now tell me what is the matter."

Edmund sighed. "I still don't feel so great. Just tired and sore, but it's easier to worry about something else."

Peter nodded and understood.

He was about to say more, when a noise caught his attention. The was the sound of marching footsteps from outside the tree. Voices shouted in the guttural language of the Toadstool People. Both boys hushed instantly. It was impossible to make out any words. Peter held his breath as they got closer to the hiding place. For what seemed like hours, the voices were from just outside the tree. They must see the gaping hole in the trunk. Someone was surely going to investigate, and they would be found and killed and...

Then the voices were gone. Peter offered up a silent thanks to both Aslan and the trees for their protection.

Edmund's eyes were closed when Peter checked him again. It was brighter, so it was possible to see that he was paler than before. There were dark circles under his eyes, which flickered under the lids. Even asleep he looked in pain.

Peter made his decision. They could not stay here. The hiding place in the tree meant that they were safe from the Toadstool People for the moment, but anyone coming to their rescue would walk straight past them. And Peter sensed that Edmund could not afford to wait. This was a time when there was no choice but to rush in.

"Come on, Edmund."

"All right. Just give me a minute."

Peter checked all around for the Toadstool People before scrambling out into the forest. A bird chirped in the branches above him and the leaves moved gently in the wind. When he was sure it was safe, he stretched back in. "Come on Edmund," he said again.

Edmund grabbed the proffered hand, then dropped it suddenly. "What is it?" Peter asked

The younger boy did not answer, but reached for something from the back of the tree and slipped it into his scabbard. Then, using his good hand, he let Peter pull him out. Once they were both in the cooler fresh air, Peter pushed his brother down to sit against the trunk while he caught his breath. Edmund closed his eyes.  
**  
**"Ed. Come on, wake up. There isn't time to rest. Do you think you can walk?" he asked.

"Peter, stop fussing," Edmund said as he opened his eyes again. There was a glassiness about them that had not been there earlier. He looked, Peter thought, like he was in a daze. His whole body was trembling. "Of course I can walk. After all, it was only my arm that got hurt. You're the one with the twisted ankle, and I've been walking since I was a year old and I'm pretty good at it."

Peter should have been reassured by the lightness in the tone, but he couldn't help feeling that this might be worse. Anger and fear were appropriate emotions, but flippant joking was out of place. It was like telling rude stories at a funeral. It jarred and Peter knew Edmund would never have normally done such a thing.

When Edmund pulled himself up to stand he needed all of Peter's help, and even still he would have fallen again but for flinging a hand towards the tree trunk. "Woah," he whispered.

"I'll carry you."

"You will do no such thing," Edmund said. "It's nothing that a bit of rest won't fix. Come on. Let's get back to camp. They'll all be waiting for us, and Philip will be mad that I didn't bring him with us."

"You're going the wrong way."

"No I'm not."

"We just came that way, Ed. And look, the footprints are all this direction."

Edmund stopped and stared at the ground. He looked like he might be about to argue, then thought better of it. "Whatever you say. Let's go your way, I'll just follow, like a good and dutiful little brother. Although I hope this isn't like that time you took us on the train to see Grandma."

Peter looked at him. "What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"That time, when we went to see Grandma, and you got us all so lost that we walked around Portobello Market for half an hour waiting for her to come and find us. Lucy thought it was the best thing we had ever done, but Susan was so mad. I suppose she'll be mad again, because I've ruined another good shirt, and the blood will never come off. Well, it might, because when I got blood all over my school trousers the matron managed to clean them, but I'm not sure what can be done about the hole. Susan might be able to stitch it, but its never going to be the same. It was one of my favourite shirts too, and it's not as if we can just pop to the shop to get another one. Although there aren't ration coupons here, and that's a good thing, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if..."

Peter checked his brother's temperature again. He was burning up worse than before. "You're delirious, Edmund. We need to get back to the camp."

"All right, Peter. Are the girls at camp? I should remember, but it's a bit hard to get it right at the moment. Good thing you're here, otherwise I would have no way of finding out, but then, I suppose that if you weren't here, then I wouldn't be either..."

"Be quiet, please."

"I am being quiet."

"Not quiet enough. There might be more Toadstool People coming back, and you and I are not in a fit state to fight anyone."

Peter took his hand and lead him away from their hiding place.

"Very, very quiet." Edmund muttered under his breath. "I am quiet. Totally quiet. I am being so completely quiet. Like a mouse. I met a mouse in the library once and he was going..."

Peter pulled his brother along behind him. He continued to chatter quietly as though the words were tumbling out of him. Peter stopped paying attention, but at times fragments of conversation filtered to him. It sounded like all of Edmund's thoughts turned into words, and if their situation hadn't been so precarious, it would have been amusing.

"You know, I don't hurt so much now, and that is probably not such a good thing although it does feel not so bad, seeing as how it was a dagger in my shoulder. Although it wasn't such a big dagger, it would have been much worse if it had been a sword. I bet that would really hurt, but she wouldn't have been able to throw that the same way. Susan could have done it. She's good with a bow and arrow, and it's the same kind of thing..."

Peter kept a close eye on the forest as they walked. There was no sign of the Toadstool People, and there were no more footprints. Peter took both of these as good signs. Eventually he stopped trying to hush his brother. They were hardly being stealthy as they walked anyway. He pulled his sword out of its scabbard.

"I wish we could have seen more of those wild horses. You know there are wild horses in these forests, Philip told me. Did he tell you too? Normally they don't come out, and hardly anyone has ever seen them. So it was good that the satyr found out that those creatures were attacking them, or we might never have known, and it would be a shame if the only one we saw was that one that was hurt. At least she didn't kill it, although she was trying to. Maybe they were going to eat it, and I don't know how anything could do something like that..."

And on, and on.

When he stopped talking, it was like a jolt.

Peter had been concentrating on balancing on his sore ankle. He spun around to face his brother, who looked at him in bemusement. The bandage on his shoulder was soaked through and his arm hung at his side. His face was pale, but his cheeks were flushed. The hand that Peter gripped was cold and shaking.

"Peter?" Edmund said in such a small voice that Peter felt the beginning of panic.

Peter grabbed the good arm, but it wasn't enough to stop Edmund falling to his knees.

"Hell, Edmund."

It took some moments for Edmund to catch his breath again to speak. For a dreadful second, Peter was transported back to the field of Beruna and watching his brother gasping for his life. Lucy's cordial was the only thing that had saved him then, but the cordial was in Cair Paravel with their sister.

Peter crouched down, and had eyes only for Edmund. He found himself whispering, "Breathe, come on Ed, breathe, please."

Finally, Edmund said. "I don't feel so great."

"We can wait here for a bit. Oreius will be searching for us anyway. Maybe we'll get to see your horses."

Edmund's eyes looked wild with panic but he didn't answer.

Peter was focusing so hard on his brother that he only realised that they were no longer alone when he heard harsh tones. "Looks like I got you again, Son of Adam."

He looked up. It was the werewolf.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you, thank you for the reviews! Also thank you to the silent readers! And thank you to elecktrum (who has a new chapter out - go read it!)

I think you know what to expect by now. So no more chattering.

* * *

**Chapter eight**

The werewolf was filthy. It had injuries about its face and caked blood covered its fur, probably from more wounds than its own. A fight, Peter guessed, although there was no way to be sure if it had been with the band of Narnians, or with the Toadstool People.

Slowly Peter lifted himself up to stand between the werewolf and Edmund. A stab of pain shot from his ankle as he put his full weight on it.

"You are more alive than I would have expected," the werewolf said conversationally.

"I could say the same about you."

It sat back on its haunches nonchalantly and began to lick a paw. "So, here you both are. Alone and injured in the forest."

Peter pointed his sword at the werewolf's throat.

"No need to be like that, little boy-king. It was just an innocent comment. You don't have to be nervous, as you're the one with the sword. I think you and I have something mutually beneficial to discuss. It's like this, see. You are here, and you're not dead, which makes me think that you might have put an end to the crone."

Peter did not answer.

"I will take that as a yes. So that means there's a vacancy for a leader of the Toadstool People. I've been second to her since she picked me out of the woods after Beruna. That's a long time to be yes ma'am and no ma'am for any creature, so I'm thinking that my time has probably come. So, as soon to be Master of the Toadstool people, I've got a proposition for you, boy-king."

"My name is Peter."

"I know that. And I know it was you who killed the old Queen."

"That was not me. It was Aslan who killed her."

The werewolf grinned. "But you fought her."

"She was killing my people and hurting my family. You would have known that if you were there."

"I was there. I came when she called. I was fighting that Giant friend of yours, and he gave me a such a kick in the guts that I thought I was a goner. I limped away, then hid in the forest. The crone found me and saved my life, and when we found the Toadstool People I helped her rule them. She thought we'd be out of reach up here, but I said that you would still come. I was right then, and I'm right now. You can make me a deal."

Peter wanted to run the evil thing through without listening to any more. Its dark eyes had a calculating look that made him wary.

The werewolf continued to speak. "I wouldn't be gaining anything by killing you, boy-king. You're hurt, and your brother," the word was heavy with significance, "is in a pretty sorry state. I'm not up for fighting after meeting with your horse-people. All I want is to get back to my part of the wood, and you want to get back to your army. So I've got a proposition for you."

"Why would I accept any deal of yours?" Peter said with more bravado than he felt.

"I don't see you having much of a choice. Your safe passage, for mine."

All of Peter's instincts called for this creature's blood. It was an evil thing, and it could not be trusted. But the thought of Edmund's choked breathing made him pause. Peter could not afford to fight. If he was injured... if something happened to him, Edmund would never get back to the camp.

It was like Oreius had said. It had only been a week ago, but it felt like months. He could not rush in. He had to negotiate for Edmund's life.

Without dropping his sword, he said, "Safe passage. You will not follow us, and we will not follow you."

The werewolf nodded. "Neither of us will send trackers. I'll not send anyone to follow your sorry hides, and you'll not send anyone back to my clearing."

"Agreed," said Peter. "And you must promise not to attack the wild horses again. They are under Cair Paravel's protection."

"If I agree to that, then you must never ride with arms against us again."

"Keep to the law, and you have my word."

"As the High King?" the werewolf said.

"As the High King," Peter affirmed. He put out his hand to shake on the agreement.

The werewolf smiled, and extended a paw to do the the same.

There was a couple of feet between them. Peter stepped nearer.

Their hands were almost touching, when a yell echoed around them.

"NO! Peter!"

Peter had thought Edmund was unconscious.

With a lunge, the younger boy threw himself at the werewolf and they landed in a tangle of bloodied limbs.

For a moment there was scuffling among the dirt, and it was impossible to see who had the advantage. Both werewolf and boy were injured and near exhaustion. Edmund had the reach and the element of surprise, but the werewolf was a seasoned fighter with teeth like knives.

In the end, however, it was neither of these things that decided the result.

Edmund pushed himself off the creature, panting hard.

The hag's dagger was standing proud in the creature's chest. Blood seeped from the wound, but it was already dead. Unseeing eyes stared up to the canopy of leaves and its right paw was still outstretched, waiting for Peter's.

"Edmund?"

If Edmund had looked hurt before, this was worse. There was no colour in his face at all, and he was covered not only in his own blood, but that of the werewolf at his feet. He managed to stand, but it looked like it was only force of will that kept him upright.

"What did you do Edmund?"

"I rushed in," he whispered.

Then he crumpled onto the forest floor.

It was only as Peter knelt at his side that he noticed the bright glint of metal concealed in the werewolf's left paw. The little knife had been hidden from Peter's view as they talked. The creature's intentions were clear. It had never wanted to negotiate. It had been waiting to kill him.

"You saved my life," Peter said as he gathered Edmund into his arms.

"You should... stick to rushing in," Edmund said between breaths. "You're rubbish at... planning."

Peter had to agree. "It's a deal then. Although," he looked at the dead creature lying beside them, "you're pretty good at rushing in too."

Edmund let his eyes close and Peter felt his dread building.

"I'm just good at everything," the younger boy whispered.

"Hey, Edmund, stay with me. We need to get back to the camp."

"I'm tired, Peter."

"I know, but you can't leave me on my own."

Edmund didn't speak for a moment, then cracked his eyes back open again and said, "There was something wrong with that dagger wasn't there."

"It was poisoned. The hag cast a spell on it," Peter raised a hand to the little cut on his cheek. "It was meant to kill me once I was 'no longer useful'. One scratch would have been enough."

"At least she never got you with it." Edmund said. "Maybe it works on brothers too, because I don't think I'm going to manage back to the camp."

"You have to. I'll carry you if I need to."

"Not likely. Your ankle won't take both of us."

Peter cursed. Susan would have boxed his ears for using such words. "Never mind my ankle. We'll just have to manage. Come on."

Peter made to stand up, but even that movement made Edmund tense in pain and he cried out. There was blood on his lips and he grabbed at Peter's jerkin with a shaking hand.

"Peter," he said when he could manage the words. "Leave me here."

"I can't..."

"For heaven's sake, Peter, it wasn't a question." His voice was barely audible. "I've thought it through. You can come back, get me with the others."

"I'm not going to leave you here. There might be other creatures, or who knows what, or... or..." he faltered.

Edmund took a deep breath. He was clinging to consciousness, but blood loss and the poison were taking their toll. He gripped Peter's jerkin so hard that his knuckles were white.

With supreme effort he made his ultimatum. "Peter. You cannot carry me, so there are only two choices left." He swallowed, then whispered, "Bring back help. Or sit here and watch me die."

Then his eyes closed and his body relaxed. He would not wake, no matter how Peter shook him.

Peter felt tears sting his eyes. He was alone.

He was never good at being on his own. Occasionally in England he would beg his little sisters and brother to leave him in peace, but in the end he had always been the one to seek out their company again. Little Lucy, with her infinite wisdom summed it up for him; 'How can you look after us, Peter, when we are not there?'

Even Edmund, whom he had both hated and loved in equal measure before coming to Narnia, had always been there. Edmund, who was dying in his arms.

Gently he placed his brother on the ground, and slipped off his jerkin to use as a blanket.

He could not sit here and watch his brother die. He had to do something.

With a hand stained with dirt and blood, he wiped his face.

"I'll be back in little while, I promise, Edmund," he said. "Just wait for me."

The only response were shallow breaths.

Peter used his sword to push himself up to stand. His ankle burned with fury again, and he hoped it would ease, but he could not afford to wait.

He started to limp towards the trees.


	9. Chapter 9

Here comes the rescue...

This story is eleven chapters altogether, so not too long to go now.

* * *

**Chapter nine**

Peter walked three steps, then stopped.

At first he thought it was just reluctance that made him hesitate. After all, he was limping away from his brother, who was hurt, badly, and might be... He banished the thought from his head.

He tried to start walking again. They needed help, and he couldn't sit here and wait for it to come to them. But it was impossible to shake the feeling that something was out of place. He wiped the tears out of his eyes so he could look around properly. Edmund had not moved, and his chest continued to rise. The werewolf was just as dead. Birdsong filled the air and the wind played lightly in the branches.

But Peter was sure there was something amiss. It felt like he was being watched by hundreds of hidden eyes.

"Just come out!" he yelled.

There was only silence in answer.

He was being an idiot. Nothing was watching him. He was just edgy because he was about to leave his brother behind. It was no wonder that things felt wrong.

He took a deep breath, then turned back towards the trees.

As he did, movement in the shadows caught his eye.

He froze and waited.

There were a couple of seconds of stillness, then the flicker happened again. This time it was clearer and he realised it was a horse, edging past the trees. It turned its dark eyes towards him. They each stood and watched each other for what seemed like hours. Then it seemed to make a decision. Without a sound, it left the darkness of the trees and made its way towards Peter.

It was dark in colour, with brown fur and a black mane, and was smaller than Peter had expected, reaching less than his elbow at the whithers. It almost identical to the horse that Edmund had freed, but there was no fire in this one's eyes and it was uninjured. It stared warily at Peter from just within the circle of daylight.

"Hello," Peter said.

It did not respond, but continued to look suspiciously at him. Peter did not move from the spot, but continued to speak. The eyes were bright with intelligence and he knew that it could understand him.

"Have you seen the other horse? It had been attacked by evil creatures and was being held captive. My brother cut off its ropes, and it saved our lives, but it could probably do with your help. I'd guess it's not far from here if you look."

He stopped talking as a second horse limped from the undergrowth. It was a twin to the first, except for the wounds on its flanks and the abrasions where it had been tied with rope. Its hooves were still covered in blood and hair from the fatal blows they had rained on the hag. It stayed within the safety of the trees and watched.

"You saved our lives," Peter said again. He wanted to approach them, but held back because he remembered what Philip had said about how reclusive the wild horses were. Instead, he knelt to appear as nonthreatening as possible and held out his hand to them.

"I am King Peter," he said, "and this is my brother, Edmund. We came here when one of the satyrs told us that you were being attacked. We were separated from our friends at the border of the forest. Actually, it was my foolishness that lead us here, but we must get back to them because..." he swallowed, then continued in a choked voice, "because my brother is hurt."

The horses seemed to have satisfied themselves that there was no threat. The uninjured one moved first, taking small steps away from the safety of the trees. It did not approach Peter, but walked towards Edmund. It put its muzzle down and nuzzled the boy gently. Instinctively, Peter took a step closer, but the horse looked up at him and whickered. He knew that it meant 'come no closer.'

The horse examined Edmund from head to toe, spending longest around the knife wound. Sometimes it would look up at the other and whicker something. The injured animal came no closer, but seemed to nod in agreement. Edmund did not make any sign that he was aware of the horse's breath upon him, even when it snuffled around his face.

Finally the horse finished its inspection. It looked up at Peter with deep sad eyes. It made him want to weep, because he understood why it was so sorrowful.

"No," he said. "I'm going to get help. It will be all right."

The horse didn't move, but something in its manner became even more solemn. It knew Edmund was dying of the poison in the dagger.

"I can't give up on him. You don't understand. He's not dead, and my sister has this cordial that can save him..."

The horse stepped towards him and slowly and sadly nudged Peter towards his brother. Peter sensed what it was telling him to do. It wanted him to say goodbye. It was too much for Peter. Four strides took him back to his brother's still form. He sank to his knees and ran his hands through the matted hair as he whispered, "Edmund?"

There was no response. The gentle breaths continued, but his skin was so pale and cold. Perhaps the horse was right and it was hopeless?

"No," he said again. He refused to believe there was nothing else he could do. Forgetting that he had planned to go for help alone, he gathered Edmund into his arms. Blast them all, but he would carry his brother back to safety.

The uninjured horse looked perturbed as though it could not understand what Peter was doing. It voiced its confusion in small bray.

But the other horse seemed to understand. It limped forward, away from the safety of the trees to stand in front of the brothers. Then, with a formal air, it bent on its front knee and dropped its head. It was a generations-old pledge of honour and the same one that Philip and the centaurs had made on the day of their coronation.

"Thanks," said Peter, but he knew it wasn't meant for him. It had been Edmund who had saved the wild horse. He wished the younger boy could have appreciated it. When he was better, Peter would make sure he told him. When, he said to himself, when Edmund was better. He refused to think of the alternative.

The uninjured horse watched, then almost seemed to sigh. It moved beside its companion but did not bow. Instead it sidestepped so its broad back was towards Peter. The muddy brown fur was nothing like the great horses that Edmund loved. This was like a moors pony to their Arab stallions. But Peter knew a good offer when it was presented.

It was offering to carry Edmund for him.

He lifted his brother onto the horse's back, and it swung its head a little as though unused to the burden, but did not move away. Edmund would have fallen if Peter did not hold him, so he readied himself to walk alongside. There was nothing he could use to secure Edmund and without Peter's hand upon his waist, he would have fallen.

The injured horse nudged him in the back. 'Get up,' was the unspoken instruction.

"I can't. I'm too big. I'll hurt you."

The horse seemed to have no time for this and nudged Peter harder, so he did as he was bidden. It made holding Edmund easier because he could wrap an arm around his waist as well as hang on.

He only had time to grab a handful of mane with one hand, and the horse was away.

It was one of the scariest, yet most fabulous journeys of Peter's life.

In only a couple of strides they were cantering through the trees. The horse obviously knew where it was going, and it knew the fastest way to get there, for it ducked and veered through the branches with unerring skill. It changed direction constantly, never more than three strides without a jump or a twist. Leaves and small branches caught against Peter's face and hands and his eyes smarted with the rush of air.

The other horse kept up beside them despite its wounds. It followed a similar weaving path, sometimes disappearing into the undergrowth for minutes before reappearing beside them when the trees allowed it. Peter knew he was not imagining the way it looked at Edmund each time they met. It was worried.

The younger boy did not rouse despite the flying branches and jostled run. Peter clung onto him fiercely, aware all the time of the chill that had replaced the fever. The breathing was ragged and far too fast. They were running out of time. Peter silently urged the horses to more speed.

There were signs as they pressed on of the work of the fell creatures. Peter saw trees cut down for fires, then left unburnt. Pits were dug, one of these the horses leapt over as if it were a little hole and not twelve feet deep. But he did not see any sign of the enemy itself. Either they had run back to the clearing, or had joined the battle as the werewolf had. Peter realised he didn't care. His only priority was getting help for Edmund now.

Neither horse slowed its speed until the trees began to thin around them. They cantered through the brightening forest. Blue sky peeked through the leaves above them. Peter realised it was a beautiful morning. He whispered, "Hold on, Edmund. Please hold on."

Without warning, both horses slowed to a walk, then stopped on the edge of a grassy meadow.


	10. Chapter 10

Not far to go now...

* * *

**Chapter ten**

Peter wanted to ask why they had stopped, but his question was interrupted by a shout.

"High King Peter!"

He followed the sound of the voice, and there was the welcome sight of a large brown horse cantering towards them.

"Philip! Where are the others?"

"To the south. They have made camp to tend the inj..." He stopped mid-word.

"We need to get there. Edmund is badly hurt." Although by the stricken look on the horse's face, he already knew this.

"Come. This way."

The wild horses did not automatically follow and Philip turned back in confusion. Peter understood that they were nervous because they were outside the saftey of their forest. He addressed the injured creature at his side. "Will you bear us further? Philip can carry us, but you have brought us here. Will you not take us all the way?"

The horses conversed in their whickering tongue. There did not seem to be any disagreement, and Philip said, "It is good, little sisters."

Then they were on their way.

Philip ran ahead, and the wild horses followed. They did not slacken their pace, instead they seemed to delight in the run through open country. There were no trees to impede their progress this time.

The camp was not far from where they had exited the forest, but there was no time for anything other than first impressions before they were in its midst. It looked like the aftermath of a battle, the smell of cook fires and the poultices used by the healers hung heavy in the air. Peter thought he could also smell the decaying stench of dead Toadstool People.

Their horses stopped within the perimeter and Oreius met them.

"Your Majesty..." the centaur started.

But Peter cut him off. "Edmund is hurt. He needs to see the healer." As he slid off the horse's back he gathered Edmund in his arms. The younger boy was a dead weight.

"I will take him," Oreius said.

"No, I'll..."

Philip interrupted this time. "Sire, you can barely stand."

For the first time Peter felt the wobble in his legs and pain in the twisted ankle. He was standing, but walking would be a different proposition. Philip was right.

Oreius gathered Edmund gently into his arms, then without a word he turned and was gone.

Peter put his hand out to steady himself and met the matted fur of the injured pony. He knelt on one knee to both of the wild horses and they did the same. Formally he said, "You have the gratitude and honour of my family for all time. You are welcome in our camp and all of Narnia for as long as peace reigns." Less formally he said, "I am sure Philip can direct you to the healers who know about horses if you wish them to see to your wounds."

There was a rapid whickering and moving of hooves.

Philip said, "They say thank you, but they must go back to their families."

Both horses gave their own solemn bows, then turned back towards the trees. Their pace was slower now, but none the less regal. They seemed taller.

"I have never heard of them leaving the trees before. Certainly they have never been know to bow to any creature. They must hold you in high regard."

"It wasn't me. Edmund saved her, at the risk of both our necks. Then they saved ours."

The wild horses had crested a rise, then passed down it on the other side and were gone.

"Show me where the healers are."

Philip lead him through the camp. Of the soldiers who had followed Peter and Edmund, only half were in the camp. Most were injured, and sat at campfires or in huddles nursing bruises or cuts. They looked at Peter, and most smiled or saluted. Each one looked as exhausted as Peter felt.

Oreius stood at the entrance to the pavilion tent while the healers flitted about like fireflies in the darkened space. Peter remembered pictures he had seen of the hospitals during the Crimean War, and of the nurses who worked there. Here the lady with the lamp was an aged old naiad who always travelled with the soldiers to cook their meals, and stitch their wounds. At the moment she was bent over Edmund's still shape. She had a bowl of some paste that she smeared over the dagger wound. Peter's spirits rose; obviously there was something she could do to help.

Then he saw the grim look on her usually cheerful face.

She looked up at their entrance. "High King Peter."

"Ma'am," Peter bowed to her. "How is my brother?"

She glanced at the younger boy, then at Philip and Peter. "I'll not mistake my words, Sire, it if pleases you."

"Go ahead."

"He's sore hurt. Badly hurt. When the centaur brought him in here, I thought we were already... you understand... too late. Thought the boy was dead, he was so pale and his skin is like ice to the touch. Some contagion has used the wound to enter the body and it is nearly finished him. But he still breathes, so life still flickers inside him. But I do not..." She faltered.

Oreius said, "Tell him. He is a ruler, and must know honesty."

"I do not think Edmund will survive the night."

"You used a salve just now. Surely that means you think it will help."

"It is a cleaning compound only." She paused, then said, "The only thing that may help him now is your sister's cordial."

"Then get her to come, we must send messengers."

"We have already," Philip said. "The earliest they can arrive is tomorrow." He nudged his head against Peter's shoulder.

In a daze, Peter walked to the bed where Edmund lay. He heard the phrases echoing.

'I do not think Edmund will survive the night.'

'The earliest they can arrive is tomorrow.'

Lucy would be too late.

He sat beside the bed and watched the rise and fall of his brother's chest. The flush had left his cheeks, so now he was ghostly pale. At least he didn't look in pain any more.

The hustle of the busy creatures continued around him, but Peter blocked it out.

"Edmund," he said quietly. "It's Peter. We got back. Lucy's coming You have to wait for her. You know how she gets if she misses out on things. She will stamp her foot, and we'll never hear the end of it, and no doubt she'll send us to the fauns for a talking to. Only you have to wait." This wasn't the High King speaking. It was was Peter Pevensie, and he was afraid.

He shook himself.

What would Aslan say to this? His brother might be hurt but so were many others. With an effort he put Peter's feelings aside and became the High King again. He stood. "Report please, Oreius."

The centaur answered solemnly. "We were taken by surprise by a rush of creatures not long after we entered the forest at King Edmund's alarm. There are many injuries, but no-one has died. Although some cling to life waiting for your sister."

"And what of the enemy?"

Philip interrupted. "Can't this wait."

Oreius ignored him. "We believe them to be routed. They seemed surprised to find us, and we took them largely unawares. Either they have been killed or they have fled. I have sent those who were able to chase them down the remnants, and to find both of your majesties."

"So we are not in danger now. Take me to see the troops."

"Now, look here," Philip said, aghast.

Again Oreius overrode him. He spoke as respectfully as ever. "If you truly wish to, your majesty. However, if I may be so bold," he bowed his head. "Your presence is not required. The troops have seen your arrival and are reassured at your safely. I think an inspection would be damaging to morale at this time."

"Hear, hear," said Philip.

Peter said, "But the soldiers?"

"They will wait until tomorrow, when they are healed and rested. As you will be too. There will be no harm in them waiting for Lucy to arrive."

Peter understood the sentiment. Oreius agreed with Philip. This was not a time for him to act as High King, but as a brother.

"Thank you, Oreius."

The centaur bowed.

Philip took up position on the other side of the bed.

Peter sat in a chair that had been pulled up for him. He fought his reluctance and held Edmund's hand.

Someone had once told him that the brain still hears despite being unconscious or asleep. "Edmund, it's Peter. We did it. We got back. The horses saved us."

Peter was never sure how long he sat there watching his brother's chest rising and falling, and he could never remember what what he said. He did recall thinking that he had never seen his brother so still, even in sleep.

Someone brought him food and the naiad forced him to eat. She bandaged his ankle, and tutted at his wrists.

The day crept into evening, and still Edmund hung on. Peter continued to talk to the silent form. He talked about everything, about Finchley, about their mother, about the way he had felt when their father went to war and about how he had felt trying to keep them together. He spoke about coming to Narnia and how he didn't think he could do what Aslan expected, and that he worried every night how he was supposed to fulfil the lion's trust.

Finally he talked about how he had felt when Edmund was taken by the witch. "I didn't think I could carry on without you. Now I know I can't go on alone. Please don't leave me."

Edmund kept breathing.

---

Peter only realised he had fallen asleep when he woke up. Even then he was not sure if he might still be dreaming as the tent was so quiet and the air so heavy. It was dark, deep into the night. The tent was illuminated from some dying candles that deepened the shadows.

In the half light it was almost possible to believe that there was nothing wrong with Edmund. He seemed to sleep peacefully, and the hand that Peter held was as cold as ice. But Edmund was never cold, and he never slept peacefully. Peter watched the slow, gentle breaths.

Then, by way of some trick of the night he heard voices outside the tent. It was the naiad talking to Oreius.

"It will not be long now," the naiad said. "His strength has failed and he no longer fights the poison that was in the blade. We should tell the High King."

Orieus' authoritative voice followed. "Peter knows this in his heart, even if his head has not yet admitted it. He will wake if Aslan wishes it. After battle the lion sometimes makes sleep to ease those who are left behind when death takes their companions."

"Whatever you think right," she said.

Was this why he had woken, Peter thought. Had he woken to hear these words? In the still dream-like state, Peter didn't feel so much like fighting. With an unexpected clarity, he realised that the next step on a soul's journey was nothing to fear.

"Peter?"

It was Edmund, speaking so quietly that Peter wasn't sure it was his brother at all.

"Hello."

"We got back. Are you all right?" Edmund whispered.

"No, silly. You were the one who got hurt."

Edmund's face had a far away look. "I remember. Doesn't hurt now."

"I know, I know. Look... look, you know I... I love you Edmund."

Edmund managed to wrinkle his nose.

"In a brother way, you know..."

"Yuck, Peter."

"You just have to wait a bit longer for Lucy to come."

Edmund mumbled something and let his eyes close.

"Edmund. Don't go."

"'m not going."

"Don't leave me."

Edmund cracked an eye open. "Maybe we don't have a choice, Peter," he whispered. "Don't be too much of an idiot ifI'm not here."

Peter was about to say something, when Edmund opened his eyes properly and focussed on something at the back of the tent.

"Aslan," he whispered.

When Peter turned, there was nothing but the canvas. He turned back, and Edmund would not rouse. There was a small smile on his face.

Peter tried to stay awake, but exhaustion claimed him eventually.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note at the end of the chapter...

* * *

**Chapter eleven**

Morning dawned and the cracks in the pavilion let in slivers of light that roused Peter. For a second, he luxuriated in comfort. He was lying out on a bed, wrapped in a blanket and he felt like it was going to be another wonderful day in Narnia. He stretched and a yawn escaped him.

Then he was hit with the memory of yesterday's events.

Edmund!

The bed that had held his brother last night was beside Peter's own. It took some moments for his brain to process its plumped pillow and neatly turned down blankets. It was empty. Edmund was gone. Both thoughts rang in his head.

He could think of only one reason why the bed would be empty. He felt sick. Oreius and the naiad had decided not to wake him and Edmund was dead.

He couldn't even cry, couldn't move.

The sound of laughter reached his ears. The world continued outside in the sunlight. Peter knew that he must carry on and be the High King, but he did not know how he could. The bed was empty and he was alone.

He might have stood there for minutes or hours, before one of the rabbits came in carrying a bowl of soup. It stopped, squeaked, then was gone. Peter hardly heard it.

Moments later, the tent flap was pulled back again. This time the person said, "Peter."

It was a girl. A sister.

How was he going to explain to her that he had failed to keep their brother safe again?

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer.

"Peter, you're scaring me. What is it?"

A younger voice spoke; another sister. "I see. Oh, Peter, you poor thing." A small hand touched his.

"What is it? What is wrong?" The first sister demanded again.

"Peter, sit down," said the younger voice gently, ignoring the other. "You are shaking so. Take a breath."

How was he ever going to be able to explain to them that he had let his brother die?

"Susan! Get him. Now."

The world seemed to swim in front of him, but he could see Lucy as she crouched at his knees. "Lu..." he started to say, but she shushed him.

"Don't speak. It is all right. I promise it is all right."

Then Lucy was pushed away and another worried face took her place. It was as familiar as his own; the big eyes and freckles and unruly hair.

"Edmund?" Peter whispered.

The concern fled from Edmund's face and he smiled. "Peter! Are you all right? You look a bit peaky."

Peter snorted in answer and gathered his little brother in his arms. He held so tight that Edmund squirmed.

"Peter!" he protested.

Peter did not let go despite the wriggling and finally Edmund held still long enough for Peter to assure himself it really was his brother in his arms. The smell convinced him. It was the familiar warm mix of fresh grass and cinnamon. The others tucked their arms around their brothers.

Lucy broke the silence. "Oh, Peter, you're crying."

Edmund pulled away to look his brother over properly. "You ninny," he said. "Whatever is the matter?"

"He thought you were dead," Lucy explained.

"Hmph. I've never felt better. You are an idiot Peter. Come on, they've just served breakfast and I'm famished."

He dodged past his siblings and back out of the tent. Lucy wiped her own tears away and ran after her brother shouting on him to wait.

Susan gave Peter a quick hug. "He really is all right, you know. He doesn't seem to know how close it was. I'm not sure if Lucy does either."

Peter remembered the conversations from last night, and did not contradict her.

"You should have seen the cordial working. He was so still and I thought maybe he was already... that we were too late. We had flown all night and we were both so tired that I thought I might have imagine the colour coming back into his cheeks. Then the cordial really started to work and he hasn't stopped moving or complaining since. Just typical Edmund. He said that you would be tired, and that we should let you sleep."

Peter rubbed his hands over his eyes and swallowed.

"All right."

Edmund was tucking into toast and drinking tea for breakfast just outside the tent. Oreius and Philip were with him, listening to the report from the leader of the centaurs who had tracked down the remains of the Toadstool People. They listened intently. Edmund budged over a little and Peter sat beside him.

Without taking his eyes away from the centaurs Peter edged closer to his brother so that he could he could feel the warmth of his arm against his.

"You needn't sit on my lap, Peter," Edmund said loudly. "I am really all right."

Peter blushed, but no one else seemed to notice. Once the report was over, Lucy slid closer to Edmund on his right so that he complained of being crushed. Philip nudged him and Susan ruffled his hair. Finally, exasperated, he said he was going to get a little bit of peace and extricated himself from the press of bodies.

The girls watched him go, then Lucy nudged Peter. "Go get him."

"He wants to be alone."

"He said he wanted peace," Lucy said. "Boys never do listen. Peace isn't the same as being alone. Trust me, he needs you to go and talk to him."

Then she smiled sagely and would not be drawn out any more.

Edmund hadn't gone far. The reassuring sounds of their friends' voices were still clear, although he could not understand the words.

The younger boy did not look up, so Peter sat beside him. Neither spoke, and that was enough for Peter. He needed to feel that Edmund was there, to watch him and hear him breath.

Finally, Edmund said, "So you saw them? The wild horses?"

"I did."

"Were they beautiful, like Philip said?"

"And wise and very, very beautiful. They saved our lives."

"I wish I could have seen them properly. Philip couldn't tell me anything about them. He was practically speechless." Edmund gave a small smile. "I think he wanted one for a mate after all."

"They were a bit small."

Silence again. One of the fauns saw them and bowed. Both boys waved back. It was one of the Berberini sisters. "I am glad to see you both well," she said. "I look forward to resuming our training."

Edmund said, "We'll have to wait until Peter's ankle is better."

"Very good, sires." She bowed and took her leave.

"All that sword practice didn't make much of a difference, did it," Edmund said finally.

"I'm sure it will do, eventually. You showed the hag you meant business."

"That was just luck. I'm surprised she couldn't see my hands shaking. I'm just glad it's finished and the horses are safe."

The chatter and activity of the camp-site washed over them. Edmund lay back on the grass with his hands behind his head and he let his eyes close against the sun. His breathing slowed, and Peter wondered if he was asleep. Then he opened one eye.

"For heaven's sake, out with it, Peter."

"What are you talking about?"

"You. You're wanting to ask something. I can see it in your eyes. I'm tired and I think I deserve a nap, but I can't if you're as tense as a cat on hot tiles."

Peter knew he couldn't settle until they had talked properly. "What do you remember?"

"It's a bit muddled, sort of like being in a dream. I remember the hag clearly, and cutting the horse free, but I'm hazy after that. Did I said some things that didn't make any sense?"

"You were delirious with a fever and you rambled the same way you did when you had scarlet fever. It might have been funny if we hadn't been running for our lives."

"We had to hide, and there was a werewolf. Only I think I have that wrong, because it ran past me out of the clearing with the Toadstool People."

"You aren't muddled. The werewolf came back and you killed it."

"I don't remember that."

"You saved my life again, Edmund."

"We're hardly keeping tallies, are we? Because if it hadn't been for you I would still be in that clearing waiting for Oreius to find me."

Peter slammed his hand into the grass. "If it hadn't been for me rushing in, neither of us would have been in the situation in the first place."

"Rushing in isn't the worst character flaw." Edmund said. He did not speak for a moment as though gathering his courage, then said in a whisper, "I was nearly too late."

"What do you mean?"

"I was right behind you as you chased the werewolf through the forest. I saw them catch you, and I should have attacked as soon as they did. I still had my sword, and I could have rescued you before she poisoned the dagger. But I hesitated. If she had really wanted to kill you, I would have been too late to stop her."

His tone was flat, as though describing something that happened long ago. Peter felt tears sting his eyes.

"I hesitated, and you nearly died." Edmund said quietly and gazed into the blue sky. "I think we're quits."

"Quits," Peter agreed.

Then he said, "I think I am going to promise never to rush in again."

Edmund propped his head up on a hand and stared hard at his brother. He was very serious. "You shall do no such thing. You make decisions in an instant and they are nearly always right. I used to think it was dumb luck most of the time, but there is more. It's like instincts, Peter. Like you know what is right in your soul. You're going to get things wrong occasionally, because you're just a person and mistakes are part of being a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve. Learn from it, but don't let it change who you are."

Peter thought he understood. He said so.

"And I shall continue to think too much, and so long as we are together it will be all right."

"It's a deal."

"Good," Edmund said.

"There was one other thing. Last night... did you see Aslan?"

Edmund hesitated before answering. "No, well, sort of, I think. Not so much saw him, but he was there. There was light around him, and he was watching me from the corner of the tent. And there was something wonderful behind him; I thought maybe it was heaven."

"I thought he had come to take you away."

Edmund laughed, and it filled Peter's heart with joy. The fear and guilt washed away like the magic of Lucy's cordial.

"Oh, Peter! He spoke to me, and I was so tired, cold and sore I would have gone anywhere he asked. I nearly begged him to let me into that glittering light. But he said that that I should leave the rushing in to you and that he needed me to hesitate just a little longer. He asked me to hold on for you."

Peter could not think of anything else to say. He rubbed the tears from his eyes, and lay out on the grass too. "I'm glad you're here, Ed."

"So am I." He looked around. "How much longer until the girls follow us?"

It wasn't long. Susan and Lucy appeared carrying a second breakfast and they ate it together, and everything was good.

_fin_

_

* * *

_

_There. Finished!_

_I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all again for sticking with this. I suffered from a case of story-fatigue half way through and your kind words and compliments have been appreciated more than you can ever know. Even knowing that people were reading has kept me going. I would still love to know what you thought of this (I'm hoping that as you've got to the last chapter it can't be that bad!)  
_

_As before, thank you especially for elecktrum's beta expertise._


End file.
